There, where you should have been
standing five minutes ago, all at once occupied
and emptied by commuters chasing buses
that approach and leave. I place myself
precisely in-between distances
of come and go and constant transit.
Across the street, a waiting
shed: dilapidated. Waiting
to be torn down. Will it be
replaced by another, a new
improved nook for passing time,
anticipating comings and goings.
Here, nobody wants to wait
too long. Nobody stays.
Yet hurrying away, they wonder
if somewhere, anywhere, somebody
takes note of their arrival. Hoping,
if they get there fast enough
they wouldn’t leave.